


Beautiful Conflict

by storytellerof221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Falling In Love, Jealousy, M/M, aftermath of rape, anger issues, getting drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellerof221b/pseuds/storytellerof221b
Summary: Mycroft summons Greg once too often. Things happen, both good and a bit not good. Sherlock intervenes. John helps.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter One

Again, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade has been summoned by Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s arrogant sod of a brother. And when he dared saying No, his Super had personally shown up inside his office, leaving the door open, for God’s sake, and tore him a new one. That’s why Greg was standing in the down-pouring rain in front of Scotland Yard smoking a cigarette and waiting for the sleek, black car to pick him up. Again.

He assumed Mycroft had the car delayed on purpose to properly soak him. On the other hand, Sherlock’s brother wasn’t known for his humour. He was well known for other things though. Sherlock had said so.

Greg sighed and looked up and down the street knowing very well Mycroft’s driver wouldn’t care for this being a one-way-street. Right when Greg started to shiver the car pulled up and Greg hurried down the few steps to the curb. He ripped open the door and just wanted to yell some insults at the man when he saw the back was empty. He shut his mouth and looked at the driver.

“Please get into the car, DI Lestrade. Mr Holmes is expecting you.” Greg climbed into the car and sat down on the expensive leather. By now he knew exactly where to find the booze. He smirked and topped up a fine crystal tumbler with the best he could find. Then he did his best to transfer the wetness from his clothes and hair into the leather upholstery.

By the time they arrived at some odd warehouse Greg had drunk three big whiskies. They didn’t make him relax or good humoured though. Now he was angry, even angrier than before, and rather aggressive, too. He wasn’t drunk, that needed much more booze to be poured down his throat. So, when he saw Mycroft Holmes standing in the dim light of the warehouse’s bulbs, he snorted and strode towards him. Behind him he could hear the car being driven away.

“Myc…croft” He suppressed a very impolite sound. It made the older Holmes pull a face anyway. So, he had noticed. Yeah, well, of course he had. That in return made Greg grin widely. He widened his stance and just stared at the tall, slim man.

“I hear, congratulations are in order, DCI Lestrade?” A false smile was pulled up when he looked at Greg.

“What do you care? More importantly, what do you want?” Greg glared.

“You do exactly know what I want. Or did you forget my enquiry via mail?” Greg thought about that for a moment.

“Oh yes! I did forget about your enquiry because I had more important things to do!” Greg’s anger flared up again.

“Such as?” Mycroft wanted to know leaning on his damn umbrella. Greg made a step towards him. Mycroft did not move a bit. Instead he just coldly smiled down his long nose.

“Such as murder. You know that already, don’t you? I bet, you had eyes on your brother while he investigated, am I right?” He was rather loud by now.

“Well, yes, of course I had.” He arrogantly shrugged.

“And you know very well, your brother does not care about paperwork. So, I had to do it. Again. Until you summoned me here probably using baby-blood and a spell to make the Super do as you wish!” Now he was yelling right into Mycroft’s face.

“Excuse me?” Mycroft still didn’t move away from Lestrade. Plus, he had no idea what the man was referring to. Perhaps he was getting insane? Or had the flue? Was he feverish already? Mycroft tried to look into his eyes and right the same moment Greg looked up, as well.

“Now listen to me, minor official. I am soaked and I am cold. I am freezing here. I just want to go home. Take me home or I swear to God, I will shove your umbrella elsewhere!” He hissed the last words and his nose almost touched Mycroft’s.

***

Mycroft inhaled and closed his eyes. This was a man and he smelled oh so good. But it was also Gregory Lestrade. Sherlock’s friend. He opened his eyes again and swallowed. He swayed and moved a bit backwards. They still looked into each other’s eyes.

Greg’s eyes were wide open and only now he realised how dark and deep Mycroft’s eyes were, like a stormy ocean. He also smelled horribly expensive aftershave combined with just himself. He wasn’t able to suppress the sigh. His lips stood open and Mycroft’s eyes honed in on them.

It was eerily quiet except for the men’s breathing. And there really was some resemblance to Sherlock, the height, the slim and bony body, hell, even the cheekbones were there. Only the hair was more reddish and thinner but Greg saw, that it got curly when wet.

He smiled and blinked.

“So?” He said breaking the spell.

Mycroft woke and blinked, too.

“So what?” He held his umbrella very tightly and it made Greg grin. Where were his bodyguards? Surely, they didn’t leave him behind and alone with him? Where was the car?

“I apologise for letting you wait in the rain. It was childish. Whatever inquiry I made; the answer can wait until tomorrow.” The ice-man was back. The voice was as cold as Greg felt. With trembling fingers, he pulled his jacket back over his watch.

“It is already tomorrow. Please, take me home?” He hadn’t any energy left to yell at him. Mycroft looked at Greg and saw the exhaustion. He also saw the alcohol finally taking over. Greg’s eyes were drooping and he swayed on the spot.

“Sit on the crate. I’ll call for my driver. Don’t worry anymore, I’ll be taking you home.” He placed a hand on Greg’s shoulder and held him upright while calling.

Greg closed his eyes feeling Mycroft nicely close. He sighed and leant against his slim body. He didn’t feel the tension, he only felt the warmth of the taller body by his side.

***

“God, what is he doing? What am I supposed to do?” Finally, he used his umbrella to hold Greg upright against the crate. His driver took care of the rest and moved Greg into the back. Mycroft moved in there, as well, and gave Greg’s address to his bodyguard slash driver. Of course, he knew where Greg lived. He hadn’t only eyes on his darling brother, had he?

Suddenly there was an ice-cold hand touching his thigh and Mycroft’s head almost hit the car’s roof. He hadn’t seen it coming and now he gingerly took it and moved it away. But it kept clawing at his hand now. And it was cold, so cold. Mycroft dared and looked at Greg’s face. His eyes were only half open and he tried to speak.

“Mycr…, Myc…, I am sorry.” He once nodded and sighed. Mycroft Holmes rarely was clueless but now he was. He cleared his throat.

“I have no idea to whom you refer, but my name is Mycroft. And what are you sorry for anyway?” Greg quietly laughed. No, it was more a giggling sound.

“I ruined the seats. That was childish, too. I am sorry. I bet; you will take it from my salary.” He pulled a face.

“Such a shame really …” Another deeper sigh followed.

“Don’t worry, dear Gregory. It doesn’t matter. It will be taken care of.” Mycroft’s voice was pitched low now. He wanted to calm Greg down, make him sleepy, so his driver slash bodyguard could just drop him off. All the time he tried to loosen Greg’s grip on his hand, but the DCI didn’t want to let go.

“Please? Don’t …” He was rather stubborn and Mycroft gave in. Soon they would reach their destination and it would be over.

***

Upon reaching Greg’s place, it was quite the action getting Greg out of the car. He didn’t want to let go of Mycroft.

Mycroft Holmes had no intention to alert the neighbourhood of his presence. Not at all, thank you very much. That’s why he left the car with Gregory and placed his palm on his lower back. Gently but insistently he moved him forward. Actually, he shoved him forward with the help of his driver. Standing in front of Lestrade’s door Mycroft suddenly felt strange. He couldn’t just leave it to his driver slash bodyguard to deposit Gregory inside his flat. It was his responsibility alone since he had summoned him. He had him soaked because he could. Now it was Mycroft’s turn to sigh.

“Listen, Rogers. Stay here and watch the entrance. I’ll manage this by myself.” He looked at him.

“But Sir, I can’t let you go alone inside. It’s my …” But Rogers stood no chance against Mycroft.

“Yes, thank you very much, Rogers. I know very well about all your duties and responsibilities. This is an order, do you understand? Now would you please take care of that door for me?” By now Mycroft needed both arms to hold Greg upright.

“Yes, Sir. Of course.” He dove deep into Greg’s trouser pockets and fished out the keys. He opened the door and gave it a push. Mycroft entered the flat and Rogers positioned himself right in front of it.

Mycroft moved Greg along through his living-room and pushed open the door to his bedroom. That action finally brought the DCI back to the living.

“Finally!” He managed to get out of Mycroft’s grip and turn around. A broad smile was on his handsome face and he reached out for him.

“Thisis me bedroom…” He stated not very clearly. Mycroft simply nodded. Of course, he knew everything about this place since he had it under observation. It was for the better, Greg never found out about CCTV cameras opposite of his windows spying on him.

“It sure is, Gregory. Now get into bed and sleep. You need to get warm.” Mycroft made no intention to help and Greg was just standing there grinning.

“No, I need to get hot and wet!” He stated and it made Mycroft’s cheeks flush a deep crimson.

“Surely not.” Mycroft knew by then he had to do something. Back when he was doing actual field work, he often had been in this kind of situations. Being on active duty meant sometimes throwing everything you got into it, even your body. That’s why he placed his umbrella on the floor and shed his jacket. All the time Greg watched him swaying on the spot. Mycroft lifted his hands. One he put on Greg’s arm and the other over his neck. Just a short pressure with two fingers and Greg fell into his arms.

“Bastard …” He groaned while Mycroft shoved him back and right onto his bed. The DCI wasn’t able to move a finger while Mycroft undressed him. But he surely enjoyed this and somehow his penis stood to attention anyhow. Mycroft’s cheeks kept being covered in red and he hated it, hated himself for it. It was so horribly embarrassing. He tightly pressed his lips together while he pulled back the duvet from beneath Gregory’s body.   
Lestrade huffed but didn’t comment on anything anymore. He probably became sober slowly, so Mycroft sped up a bit. He opened the wardrobe and looked for pyjamas but there weren’t any. He sighed. This man was so strange. Who didn’t own pyjamas? Even Sherlock had some. Well, at least he had bottoms.  
Mycroft finally found some track-suit trousers and a well-worn t-shirt. He pulled these over Greg’s willing limbs.

“I am Ken.” Followed by another giggle. Mycroft looked up while pulling the duvet over his muscular body. How could he not have noticed? His actions be damned…

“No, you are Gregory. You are confused and still very drunk. Sleep now!” Mycroft said sternly but Greg just looked at him. The grin was back and his eyes had this special expression. Mycroft quickly left the room and marched into the bath to get the pain-killers. He also got a glass from the kitchen and filled it with water. Both he placed on Greg’s nightstand.

“You will need this later.” He switched off the alarm on both Greg’s alarm-clock and his mobile. Greg just raised a brow but didn’t react to that.

“Stay in bed. I will excuse you and talk to your Super. Don’t worry, please?” He looked at Greg’s forehead, didn’t dare locking eyes with him. He would be lost.

“You could say “sorry”, you know? This is all your fault.” Greg murmured sleepily. Then he moved over on his side facing the wall. Not facing Mycroft Holmes.  
Mycroft was used to this. Sherlock did it all the time. He sighed and turned around. He put his jacket back on and took his umbrella.

“I am sorry, you know? Why else would I be doing these things?” He whispered the words and closed the door behind him. He approached the exit and Rogers turned around looking him over.

“Do you need me to do anything, Sir?” He asked. Mycroft shook his head.

“No, it’s all fine. Just take me home, will you?” He replied and Rogers hurried to open the back door for him. Mycroft slid inside and leant back. He also closed his eyes.  
Rogers took the fast lane home. Well, he made it the fast lane. Mycroft realised that when looking out of the window. He smiled and admittedly enjoyed the ride. It woke him up a little which was a good thing because he had a lot of work to do. They reached his place in record time and Mycroft thanked Rogers for his assistance.  
Inside his place he poured a drink. A fire has been lit already and he stood staring into the flames swirling the amber fluid inside his tumbler. He closed his eyes but the only thing he saw were Gregory’s eyes. Dark, melting chocolate. So beautiful.  
Then he saw his muscular body. Beautiful, as well. His thoughts kept wandering and ended up on thinking how beautiful his cock was, too. Then he very quickly downed his drink and poured another.  
How would he ever manage to look into the other man’s eyes after this? He also would have to be so very careful around Sherlock. Both of them together wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

God, how his stupid and childish actions had compromised his life!

***

Greg had passed out the moment Mycroft Holmes had left his bedroom. And when he woke, the smallish lamp on his nightstand was still on and cast a glowing shine on the glass of water and most importantly on the bottle of painkillers Mycroft had left right there. The DCI loudly groaned into the room and rubbed his sore head. He carefully sat up and leant against the headrest. His trembling fingers opened the box of meds and he downed two of them. He emptied the glass of water and belched. Finally, he also remembered. Slowly he lifted the blanket and found he was dressed into his comfy things for the night. The clothes he wore yesterday were neatly hung up by the door. His shoes were side by side beneath the chair. The curtains were tightly closed, so no light would disturb his sleep.

“Mycroft fucking Holmes, you bastard. What did you do to me?” He murmured and carefully swung his legs out of bed. His eyes fell on the alarm-clock but it was shut off. His watch was gone, too. His mobile was nowhere to be found.

“God, my Super will just kill me…” He stood and swayed into the kitchen to prepare coffee. There he found his mobile leaning against the cafetiere. It was muted but signalling a text. Greg raised a brow but first started on brewing coffee. He only read the message when holding his mug of coffee. He blew over the hot fluid and his left opened the text-message.

_“Good morning, DCI Lestrade. I am not convinced; you remember what I told you yesterday. I already called your Super. You are having the day off. Try and get some more sleep. Again, I am sorry.”  
MH_

Suddenly Greg remembered not only being overpowered by the older brother of Sherlock but also his straining cock. A vision of Mycroft’s heated cheekbones shot through his brain. Another vision of him being totally drunk, clinging to the man and begging him not to leave. Now it was Greg’s turn to blush. He remembered being brought to bed by Mycroft bloody Holmes. He also remembered the man who took care of him, who kept holding his hand and didn’t push him away. Hell, he even took care of everything himself when instead he could have told his driver, or was he his bodyguard, to dump Greg into his flat. The question left was what had Mycroft actually wanted when he summoned him the other day? The bigger question though was why did Greg feel so very badly attracted to Mycroft Holmes?

***

Greg had several pints of water, some more painkillers, and a hot shower where he wanked his soul out of his body. Afterwards he just went to bed and fell asleep again. Only to be woken by voices too close for comfort. He slowly and tiredly blinked his eyes open while he listened into the conversation.

“We shouldn’t have done this. It’s not right. Come on, let’s go. Please?” Was that John Watson speaking?

“But I need to know! So, don’t be a cowardly baby and help me waking him up.” That definitely was Sherlock bloody Holmes.

“Be careful, for God’s sake. Go away and let me.” Greg could just feel the smirk. Steps and some moving around followed and then there were gentle hands on his shoulder and arm and John’s soft doctor’s voice speaking to him.

“Greg, it’s me, John Watson. Please wake up or Sherlock might shoot your wall.” Greg managed to tear his eyes fully open and stared right into John’s bright blue ones. Several seconds passed until a large hand with long, spidery fingers clouded his vision.

“Yes, that would be enough of that. Finally, you are awake. I almost shot the door-bell but John made me just do a break and enter.” Now Greg focused on Sherlock and sat up quickly and too fast.

“What?” He groaned and got handed a pint of water.

“Thanks, mate.” He gulped it down.

“What do you want?” Greg asked looking at Sherlock.

“Where were you today? There was a double murder and I had to deal with Donovan. I even asked my brother dearest to find out what was going on but he said he had no idea.” Greg grinned.

“Did he then?” He carefully stood.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock was about to follow him.

“I am taking a piss. You want to come?” Greg looked at him and then closed the bathroom-door into his face. He could hear John laughing. Outside Sherlock moved all over the place while Greg was in the bath freshening up and brushing his teeth, too.

“Ha!” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed. John hurried to his side.

“What is it?” He asked. Both men stood in front of the kitchen-counter where the dirty cafetiere was still waiting to be washed up.

“This will give me eternal nightmares! I need an exorcism! This is outrageous!” Sherlock was very pale and stared at the top of the working-place. John had no idea what had gotten into his flatmate slash friend slash loved one.

“What is? What can I do?” John asked and stepped up close. Gently he placed his hand on Sherlock’s lower back. He knew, normally Sherlock didn’t like to be touched. But sometimes John just had to.

“Can you time travel, John?” Sherlock acidly asked.

“Of course, I can’t time travel, you twat. Just tell me what you found and stop behaving like a moron!” John chided in his almost Captain’s voice.

“Just look, John!” Sherlock held up his fingers close to John’s eyes and John focused. He swallowed. Sherlock still wore his black leather gloves and John quickly got rid of his visions. Instead he concentrated on the hair Sherlock held between his long fingers.

“It’s a hair. So?” John asked. Sherlock actually wanted to tell him, he stated the obvious, as usual. Normally John wasn’t that bad but perhaps today was special. Sherlock sighed but only inside the marble halls of his mind-palace.

“Yes, it is a hair. Now remember, John. Greg’s hair is grey, poor man. This hair is ginger. Now who do we know who has ginger hair? Hm?” John couldn’t think of any woman with reddish hair and that’s what he told Sherlock.

“What’s wrong with you today, John? Why focus on women only? Greg had his fair share of men; I do happen to know that.” John’s eyes were wide open.

“You do?” He quietly asked having to restrain himself, force himself to keep his face calm.

“I lived with the man, I told you! So, this is a rather short, ginger hair. Think, John!” Sherlock moved the hair in front of John’s face.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” Greg came to the rescue and stood beside John who was quite happy about the fact. Sherlock instead glared accusingly at the DCI.

“What did my brother do in your kitchen, Lestrade?”

***

“What?” John barely got out the word.

“It’s none of your business, Sherlock.” Greg turned away to change into fresh comfy clothes.

“Of course, it’s my business. It became my business when you failed to appear on my crime-scene!” Sherlock had an outrageous expression on his face and John just laughed.

“It’s not your crime-scene!” Greg yelled from his bedroom. Sherlock looked at John for help.

“It really isn’t and you know it.” John said and Sherlock snorted.

“Fine! You have changed sides; I see that clearly now. Perhaps you could join them for a ménage à trois!” He stormed out of the kitchen.

“Sherlock!” Now John yelled, too, and his voice thundered through Greg’s flat. Sherlock immediately stopped but didn’t return into the kitchen.

“What did he do now?” Greg returned and looked at John.

“Got jealous and wanted to storm off.” John sighed and shook his head.

“Jealous?” Greg was clueless.

“So, what did go on with his brother?” John asked but Greg just shook his head.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I mean, yes, he was here. No, nothing happened.” Greg started to prepare tea.

“That’s not good enough for Himself and you know it, Greg.” John arranged the mugs on the table. And naturally he had one ready for Sherlock.

“Here, take this one. It will appease him.” Greg handed an old battered mug over to John who had a closer look at it.

“Why?” He questioningly raised a brow.

“He bought it for me from his first money the Yard paid him. It was meant as a gift, a thank you, because I let him stay.” Now John smiled and gently placed the mug on the table. The moment Greg poured water over the tea-bags, Sherlock stood leaning against the door-frame.

“Milk, two sugars.” He quietly said not looking at them.

“I know that, stupid.” Greg smiled and prepared his mug. When he handed it over, Sherlock’s face lightened up but he didn’t say anything. It was enough though. He disappeared into the living-room. Neither Greg or John brought the matter up again. Sherlock just drank his tea. The ginger hair was sealed into an evidence-bag deep in Sherlock’s coat.

***

Mycroft came home late the next day. He had lost many hours yesterday with Gregory. But he didn’t regret a single minute. He only wished the outcome had been better. He had hoped there would be a text in return from him but there wasn’t. Instead Sherlock was waiting in his dark living-room when he returned.

“What do you want?” He just passed by his younger sibling and poured a drink.

“You could have lit the fire, you know?” Mycroft told him while doing it himself.

“My coat keeps me warm enough. And I am not here for the cosiness of your home, Mycroft.”

“I already wondered…” Mycroft muttered and finally settled into the second armchair.

“I am here because of this.” And he presented the evidence-bag. Mycroft tried to see what was inside but couldn’t. He didn’t want to get up. So, he kept calm provoking his brother into action.

“Do you think I have committed a crime, brother-dear?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock snorted.

“I know you have. But this isn’t proof of a crime you have committed. This is proof of something very horrible to me, brother-mine.” He shook the bag and Mycroft tried to lean a bit forward without letting it known.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Let me know or leave right now. I have work to do.” Mycroft tried to look bored.

“I found this hair in Greg’s kitchen. It’s ginger. Have you seen your head in the mirror lately? I mean, I know you don’t look at the other parts.” Sherlock smirked.

“We have met the other day. It’s not something you need to worry about.” Mycroft stood.

“Aren’t you offering me a drink?” Sherlock asked staying seated.

“You already had one.” Mycroft pointed at the empty tumbler.

“I’d like to have another one.” Sherlock held up his glass. Mycroft sighed and topped up his drink.

“You should hurry, brother-dearest, or John might get snatched away out of his local.” He pronounced local like it was something utterly nasty. He smirked when he saw his brother’s cheekbones redden. He quickly downed the drink and bumped the tumbler on the side-table. It was short of crushing. Without a word of good-bye, he rushed out of the place leaving the little bag behind.

He believed he knew enough.

***

Mycroft slowly moved up to his window and looked at the disappearing figure of his younger sibling. He shook his head and poured a second drink for himself. Then he picked up the evidence-bag and held it close to his eyes. This was, in fact, a single hair from his head. He let out a loud groan and binned the bag. Sherlock would imagine something only he could think of. Then he would tell John. And John would talk to Gregory. Then Gregory would assume that Mycroft had told lies about him. Everything would be over before it had even started.

“I need to do something…” Mycroft took the bottle of whiskey into his office and sat down in front of his computer. He stared at the black monitor while sipping his drink and finally realised that his computer wasn’t able to help him. He glared at his mobile. He needed to call him. He just had to. But what could he say? How should he explain what happened? And what if Sherlock had already confronted Greg about this?

His mobile rang and Mycroft choked on his drink. He badly coughed and his eyes watered. He had to blow his nose and tried to see who the caller was at the same time. And again, he choked but his time on his own spit. His fingers trembled when reaching out. And it wouldn’t stop ringing. Finally, he was able to speak again and he answered the call.

“Detective Chief Inspector, what can I do for you?” He said and his voice sounded strange, even to him.

“Mycroft, I think we need to meet. Again.” His voice was as nice and deep as ever and Mycroft closed his eyes leaning back into his chair.

“And why would that be necessary?” He asked. He wanted nothing more than meeting him.

“You want to talk about it on the phone? Fine. Let’s do it your way. As always.” He deeply inhaled and Mycroft tried to interrupt.

“Gregory, please, don’t…” But now it was Greg’s turn to be impolite.

“No, it’s fine. Firstly, I wanted to thank you for having arranged the day off for me. I appreciate it, I really do. Then I must apologise to you for my horrid behaviour towards you. I need to tell you that I am actually glad you answered the phone.” Again, Greg needed to breathe.

“But Gregory, I…” Mycroft stood no chance.

“I actually wanted to offer a thank you. I wanted to cook dinner at my place to properly thank you but I see now, you don’t want another go. Well. Anyway. I have said what needed to be said.” A much-needed break within Greg’s speech opened.

“Gregory, please, may I say something, too?” Mycroft asked.

“Did you just say please?” Greg just said what had come to his mind and right away bit his lip.

“Yes, I did. And may I?” Mycroft asked.

“Please, don’t hold back.” Mycroft was able to hear the sarcasm and he poured yet another drink.

“Gregory, I would like to have dinner with you.” Mycroft said swirling the amber fluid rather wildly.

“Really?” Greg blurted out the single word and it made Mycroft smile.

“Yes, really. So, when am I supposed to appear at your doorstep?” He asked.

"What about Friday?“ Greg suggested. Mycroft worried his lips. Friday was as busy as any other day. He would have to cancel several appointments and he found he didn't mind at all.

"That's perfect. When shall I be there?“ Mycroft asked.

"Would seven by fine?“ Greg asked and Mycroft smiled.

"It would. I am looking forward to seeing you again, Gregory.“ Mycroft really meant it and somehow Greg was able to feel the truth in his words.


	2. Chapter Two

Mycroft was sitting inside his Whitehall office and stared at his calendar. Then he pressed the intercom and summoned Anthea who appeared rather quickly in front of his desk.

„Sir?“ She raised a brow looking at him. Something was wrong.

„Anthea, I need you to take over the Friday afternoon and evening. Cancel what needs to be cancelled and attend the other meetings yourself. Please?“ Now he looked up and met her eyes.

„Did something happen?“ She simply asked that question because normally Mycroft Holmes never cancelled meetings. Except for when his little brother was concerned. But if this should happen, another Sherlock in a drug-induced coma, she already would have been alerted.

„You could say so.“ He cleared his throat.

„But it is nothing to worry about. It is, in fact, something private.“ Now Anthea was surprised. This had never happened before. She was intrigued.

„Sir, you know I need to ask this but what about Rogers?“ Mycroft didn't look at her.

„I won't be needing him.“ He didn't want to tell her but actually knew that he had to. He sighed.

„I have a dinner invitation from DCI Lestrade. It's private. It's not official.“ He tried to sound nonchalant but failed. And he knew it.

„So, a third person really would be inappropriate. Sir?“ She smiled warmly.

„Exactly.“ A very small smile showed on Mycroft's face, too.

„Very good, Sir. I will take care of all the arrangements.“ She turned around and closed the door behind her.

Mycroft looked at his watch. Today was Wednesday and he had about two days left for compensating. He sighed and clicked on the files he had to work on. But whatever he clicked on, there was a message popping up.

_„File with Anthea. Go away.“  
A_

And now there actually was a grin on his face. He stood, took his coat and bag, and left his office waving good-bye to her. He would get her something nice.

***

Mycroft spent Thursday at home. He actually slept in and now stood in front of his wardrobe. There were only suits and dress-shoes. What was he supposed to wear at Gregory's? He really wanted to look nice and casual. Gregory only knew him in his three-piece-suits. He wanted to show him something else, another side of him.  
Finally, he decided to go shopping. He hadn't done that in a while and he had no one to ask to be his company. His brother would have a field day if he asked him. And John Watson could only be of help if he wanted to buy fair jumpers.  
He ordered his car around and had Rogers drive him to Harrods. He browsed through several departments and bought denims, brogues, shirts, and underwear. He bought everything blindly because he didn't want to change and try them there. He also bought a different aftershave and products for his milky skin and ginger hair. He carried half of his goods and the other half was with Rogers. He didn't want it to be delivered. He needed it with him right away, so he could try it out.  
Fortunately, Rogers didn't ask any questions. But once and again he pointed at something or pulled a face moving Mycroft in a certain direction. Both men didn't comment on that but Mycroft was glad he had Rogers. He needed to get him something nice, as well.  
Hours later Rogers had been sent home and Mycroft stood amongst his shopping in his bedroom. Everything he had bought fit perfectly. He looked into the mirror and it was strange seeing him in dark denims and a sweater. He tried on the shoes, too. Slowly he lifted his hands and ruffled his hair. He tried to smile but it didn't look real. He lowered his head and thought of Gregory. That worked better.  
He changed back into a pair of pyjamas and donned a dressing-gown. All the clothes needed to go to the dry-cleaner beforehand and he put everything into a special bag to be picked up.  
He had just poured a drink when his mobile rang. It was Sherlock. Why didn't he text?

„What is the matter, brother-mine?“ Mycroft answered the call.

„What have you done to Lestrade? Why is he occupying my flatmate?“ Sherlock asked.

„What are you talking about?“ Mycroft really had no idea what Sherlock was ranting about.

„Lestrade asked John to come over. He said he didn't need me. John sent a text later and he was out shopping with the DCI. I deduce, you are having a date. Why?“ He sounded angry.

„Shopping?“ Just the one word. Mycroft wanted to know what Lestrade had shopped.

„Food. And drinks. Probably condoms and lube.“ Now Sherlock snorted. Mycroft cleared his throat.

„If you really have to know, Sherlock, Gregory has invited me for dinner. And I assume he wants to make sure, everything he offers to me is perfect.“ Now he smirked.

„But why is he taking John along? I would have been the perfect choice!“ He still sounded angry.

„Probably he doesn't trust you. He probably believes, you would spoil his dinner because of me.“ There was no reply.

„Sherlock?“ The connection had been ended.

***

John and Greg browsed the aisles of Fortnum & Mason, their food department they did.

„Do you have any idea what he likes?“ John asked.

„Cake.“ Both men shared a look and laughed.

„No, seriously. You need a menu or some such thing.“ John said.

„I do know that, John. That's why you are here. I need a soundboard.“ But he smiled saying so.

„Why do you think...? Anyway, I happen to know, just as you do, that he normally eats in several-star-restaurants. He probably doesn't do take-away, pizza, or things like that. He is used to perfectly cooked food. Plus, you want to impress him, and don't lie to me.“

„Yes, I know all that. Thank you very much. I am a good cook. My grandfather, the Lestrade line, has taught me everything about _La Cuisine_. But perfect food would be boring because it's something Mycroft has too often. That’s why it needs to be something vulgar but nicely upscale.“

„Vulgar? Nicely upscale? What the fuck?“ John said staring at him. By now other people stared, too.

„Hush, John.“ They quickly changed into another aisle.

„Well, why don't you cook pub food and make it somehow better than standard pub food?“ John suggested.

„Such as?“ Greg was clueless.

„Such as ale-pie with petals on top? Lava cake with real flames? Cocktail out of a melon bowl?“ Greg simply stared at him but finally a huge grin appeared.

„I knew why I took you along!“ They bought a lot of ingredients and both men glared at the register when paying.

„I really hope it will be worth this.“ John gestured at the fancy bags.

„It sure will.“ Suddenly Sherlock was standing by their side peering into the bags.

„What are you doing here?“ Greg asked pulling the bags close.

„Proving my brother wrong.“ A reply without content.

„What?“ John said right then taking his hand gently. Sherlock looked at him.

„I have just talked to Mycroft because I wanted to know why you were off with Greg. He told me about your dinner-date. I asked why you wouldn't want me along and I wasn't pleased with his reply.“ Sherlock quietly admitted.

„Your brother isn't completely wrong. I know you are jealous. And I need this to be perfect.“ Lestrade looked pleadingly up at Sherlock who returned the look.

„I know, he isn't. You know, you are right about me. But trust me, I know what he needs.“ Saying so he again looked at John and his eyes were warm and the smile was honest. John was lost for a minute and the moment was gone when Greg cleared his throat.

“So, what have you two been buying?” Sherlock asked poking at the contents of the bags already.

“Promise to behave and I'll show you.” Greg said and Sherlock nodded.

“Promise. So?” John pulled him away from the bags.

“Not here.” He said and Sherlock didn't look pleased.

“My place. Let's go and hail a cab.” Greg said and took some bags. John took the rest. Sherlock couldn't be bothered to help but hailed a cab in a mere second by just raising his hand. They rode over to Greg's place and arranged everything on the counter. John explained to Sherlock what was on the menu. Sherlock licked his lips. John got some ideas.

“This is the perfect seduction, Lestrade. Hopefully you have condoms and lube?” He innocently asked and made Greg blush. Even John had to grin.

“What will you be wearing? Where do you want to set up the table? Surely not at this counter?” Sherlock moved around.

“I will be dressed nicely casual. You know damn well; I don't have a table!” Greg glared at Sherlock.

“Hm.” Sherlock was typing on his mobile looking rather excited.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“Making it work.” The mobile disappeared into his coat again.

“God, I have missed this!” Greg muttered putting the food away.

“What about cutlery and napkins? Table-cloth?” John asked all of a sudden. Greg ruffled his hair.

“You know, John, that was actually why I was taking you along. Now we are back home!” The mobile was back in Sherlock’s hand.

“It is never too late. I happen to know he has nothing of the sort. Not yet anyway.” He typed some more and pocketed the mobile when he was done. John had an idea where this was leading. Now Sherlock even shed his coat and sat down.

“Drink?” He asked pulling a bottle from his coat.

“Yes, damn it!” Lestrade sat down by his side and was handed the bottle. John sighed but joined them.

***

Greg had taken a day off on Friday. In the meantime, the table and other things Sherlock had ordered, had arrived, and were arranged in the living-room, also by Sherlock. He actually was good with this and Greg just let him.

Again and again Greg checked the time and found it only noon. He had used the hours before to wash his bedding and clean his flat. He had thanked both Sherlock and John for their help.

Now Greg was in shambles. He was nervous and felt like a teenager before his first date ever.

He started to prepare the food so he only would have to put everything into the oven tonight. He was pleased with himself. Hopefully Mycroft would like it. He was always so correct about his meals or so had Sherlock said. But he wasn't fat and Greg had no idea why he was on a diet. He had asked Sherlock if Mycroft was sick but Sherlock had just grinned.

Finally, it was time for Greg to shower and get dressed. In all his naked glory he stood in front of his mirror and glared. Then he grinned and posed. And then he shook his head.

“Not too bad...” He murmured and picked some rarely worn jeans and shirt. He left socks or shoes. He was at home and he liked it. The floor-heating was on and he felt good.

Again, he cast a look into the mirror. The t-shirt sat rather tight and it enhanced his still fit body. He could be pleased with himself or so he thought. Another glance at the watch on the DVD player. Ten minutes to seven. He longed for a fag but denied himself. He checked the table and everything for the last time.

Exactly at seven o'clock the doorbell rang and Greg raced to let Mycroft inside. He stood for a second behind the door and collected himself before opening it.

***

Mycroft had spent horribly long inside his bath. He didn't look into the mirror but just dressed into his new and freshly dry-cleaned clothes. Only then he cast a look and he looked nice. Perhaps even better than nice. He put on his coat downstairs and picked up the bag with red wine and whisky he intended to bring as a gift for Gregory. He left his house when Rogers drove up with his car. He wasn't in a position where he could just order a cab. They rode through London and upon arriving at Gregory's place he promised to call him when he was done here. He didn't want Rogers to linger outside while he was having dinner with Gregory. Clinging to his bag he climbed up the stairs to the small place Lestrade lived in and rang the bell. It was exactly seven and he concentrated on his breathing. He was nervous.

The moment the door was opened and he was inside, the car behind him left the curb. Now Mycroft relaxed a little bit and looked at Gregory. What he saw was mouth-watering.

“Mycroft, please don't stand there. Come on in!” Greg made an inviting gesture and the door was closed.

“Gregory, good evening.” He held up the bag for him to take.

“Oh, you shouldn't have. I invited you.” But he took it and curiously glanced inside. His eyes widened.

“That's wonderful! Thank you so much!” He placed it on the kitchen-counter while Mycroft just followed him.

“Let me take your coat. Make yourself comfortable.” Mycroft got out of it and handed it over. He looked around and carefully climbed on a bar-stool by the counter. From behind Greg looked at his behind and licked his lip. Smiling he returned into the kitchen.

“Would you like a drink?” He offered and Mycroft simply nodded. Very slowly he felt less nervous.

“Yes, thank you, Gregory.” Lestrade poured a flute of cooled prosecco Sherlock had ordered with everything else. Lestrade hoped Sherlock hadn't been kidding. They clinked glasses and Lestrade carefully sipped. Surprisingly he liked it, it was refreshing.

“Did my darling brother talk about my preferences?” Mycroft asked arranging himself on top of the bar-stool. Greg swallowed.

“Yes, he did. He was very, …, very into it. I hope you do really like it?” Greg looked at him.

“I sure do. Don't worry, Gregory. And you are making me curious. Your kitchen smells delicious.” Greg grinned.

“It does, doesn't it? I will serve you some surprises.” He stared into Mycroft's eyes.

“I do hope so, Gregory.” Mycroft stared back. When Greg turned around to start dinner, he downed his drink and topped up their glasses. He tried to see what Greg was up to but everything was shielded by Lestrade’s broad shoulders.

“Here, have a snack.” There was a plate with crackers and a bowl with olives. Some cheese and grapes, too. Greg had neatly arranged everything and there were petals now. Sherlock had ordered those, as well. Mycroft looked at the offerings and then at Greg.

“This is just perfect, Gregory.” But he only picked a few olives and two crackers to put on his plate. Greg raised a brow and leant against the counter opposite of him.

“If you don't like it, you can say so. I won't be angry, you know?” The statement made Mycroft look up.

“No, no. I like it. I just … I want to leave room for the main course and dessert.” Mycroft looked at the cheese. He really wanted the cheese.

“You are a bloody diplomat, Mycroft. Please, do eat. Indulge. I made everything for you and I expect you to enjoy yourself. This is me saying sorry and you accepted it. That's why you have to eat.” Greg was dead serious. Mycroft took some cheese with his delicate fingers and put it into his mouth. Greg's eyes followed the cheese and he quickly emptied his glass.

The ale-pie needed about half an hour in the oven, so Greg took the bottle and moved them into the living-room. Low guitar music played and Mycroft wondered who was playing. He looked for a case but found none. He turned around to ask Gregory and found him very close. He didn't move back though.

“Who is playing?” He quietly asked. Greg looked up at him.

“Me. This is me playing.” He smiled and shrugged. Mycroft looked surprised. There was something he hadn't known about Gregory. What a lovely surprise!

“It's beautiful...” Mycroft sounded thoughtful and their eyes kept looking into each other's. Greg felt his heart beat too fast. Mycroft's eyes were storm blue-grey. And only now he really saw how nicely he was dressed up. And he gently smiled up at him.

***

“God, he is so beautiful and I just can't stand it.” Mycroft's thoughts were swirling while looking into Greg's dark brown eyes. Eyes the colour of chocolate. Warm and loving. Only why had he ever been so mean to him? Why had he had him standing in the rain waiting for his car?  
He actually had always felt something for the DI, now DCI. He had always been attracted to him, but he had never approached.

The work had always been in the way. Plus, Gregory had been married. His wife had left him though while Sherlock lived with him. But still he didn't ask him out. Now it was Sherlock who stood between them. Until Sherlock met John Watson. Now his way was free but he had no idea how to do it. Obviously, he had done everything wrong. Greg's reactions weren't calculable and Mycroft had hated the situation. And again, his thoughts were swirling.

***

Greg could see that Mycroft was thinking about something. He looked slightly confused. It was a look Greg hadn't yet seen. He was happy that Mycroft had accepted his apology, had even apologised himself. And now he was here in his flat. Greg was trying to seduce the man but had no idea if it was working. So far it seemed to work because Mycroft looked relaxed. He had eaten and he even liked his music. The oven-clock dinged and both men were ripped from their thoughts.

“Dinner is ready. Please have a seat, Mycroft.” He pulled the chair out for him and Mycroft sat. For once he was being coddled and he liked it. Not that he would ever admit it. He watched Greg while he pulled their meal out of the oven and again enjoyed the sight.

“Here you go.” Greg proudly announced placing the pie on the table. Expectantly he looked at Mycroft who looked at the pie. Then he helplessly looked at Greg.

“I am sorry, but I don't know what this is.” Then he lowered his eyes and a rosy shade covered his cheekbones. Greg plonked on his chair and took the knife to cut a piece for him.

“This is an ale-pie. It is actually pub food but I made it a bit differently. See? There are eatable petals again. For you.” His voice was low when he put the piece on Mycroft's plate.

“Ale-pie. Pub food. What is he doing to me? I feel stupid.” Mycroft thought looking at his pie. Then he slowly took his knife and fork and started to eat. Very carefully he picked up a piece of pie on his fork and lifted it to his mouth. Greg watched him doing so and Mycroft prayed he wouldn't drop it because he was so bloody embarrassed already. But the piece passed his lips and he closed his mouth. Then he also closed his eyes in delight. This was amazing! Why hadn't he ever tasted this before? He opened his eyes again and looked at Greg.

“You are amazing! This is amazing!” And he dug in. Greg relaxed. Mycroft liked it. He thought it, him!, amazing. Only then he started to eat, too. After having finished half of the pie, he opened the bottle of wine he had bought. He poured it into Mycroft's glass.

“I almost forgot. I am so sorry.” He poured for himself, too.

“Never mind, Gregory. I am enjoying this immensely.”

“I am glad to hear that.” Both men drank and stared into each other's eyes.

After the pie was finished Mycroft leant back in his chair.

“You are a wonderful cook, Gregory. Thank you so much.” His fingers fiddled with the stem of his wine-glass. Very slowly Greg's fingers crept forward over the table until they touched Mycroft's. Only his fingertips, nothing more. He was very careful. He didn't want to scare him away.

“Don't you relax just now, Mycroft. There is dessert coming up.” He gently stroked his fingers over Mycroft's.

“You can't be serious, Gregory. I am going to explode.” Mycroft groaned but didn't pull away his hand.

“Nonsense. We will be having a little break, perhaps smoke a cigarette and drink the whisky you have brought? What do you think?” Mycroft looked up.

“Perfect.” Only a single word but it was enough. Greg knew he was the one who had to lead, at least tonight he was. He gently took Mycroft's hand and pulled him up.

“Let's get into the backyard then.” He pulled him along and made him sit on a cushioned bench.

“I'll be right back.” He still held his hand.

“I should hope so.” Mycroft smiled. Greg rushed back inside and collected everything. He sat down on the bench, too, but not too close. He poured the whisky and handed over the tumbler. Then he lightened up a fire in a metal crate. He offered his fags and Mycroft took one. He lightened it for him and they relaxed while smoking and drinking.

“What surprise will you be serving for dessert?” Mycroft asked low voiced.

“Lava cake.” Greg answered and turned his head to look at him. The face told him everything. It would be another surprise.

***

The moment he flame came up Greg knew he had him. The look of utter surprise when he lit up the alcohol-soaked cake was fantastic. They had some cake and were finally done. Greg stood and Mycroft followed him into the kitchen. They cleaned up together and returned into the backyard with yet another drink. Suddenly Mycroft’s hand began to tremble. Greg saw it and placed his fingers around his wrist.

“Hey, what's wrong? Are you feeling well?” He asked looking him up and down.

“I am fine. I am perfectly fine. I just don't know... I mean...” He slowly shook his head and Greg could see a tear glittering in the corner of his eyes.

“Here, give me.” Greg took the glass away and pulled him closer. At first Mycroft was very tense but after a few minutes he gave in. He relaxed against Greg and placed his head on his shoulder. His arms though were folded over his chest. The whole embrace was a bit awkward. But Greg just kept holding him and slowly moved his palms over his back.

“What do you need?” He whispered but Mycroft shook his head.

“Just … this.” His voice broke.

***

Greg was helpless. He also was absolutely clueless. So, he just did what he was asked for. He kept holding Mycroft, kept stroking his back until he felt him shudder once. And he started to move out of his embrace. Greg let go of him. Mycroft stood and straightened his slim body. Greg looked up at him.

“I am sorry, Gregory. Thank you for the wonderful evening. Dinner was delightful. Good night.” He turned away and wanted to disappear inside.

“What? No!” Greg was after him in a second. He blocked his way out of the living-room.

“You can't just leave now without explaining to me what just happened here.” Greg was desperate.

“I behaved stupidly and spoiled the evening. You must think me an idiot.” But he had stopped.

“You are behaving weird. You didn't spoil anything. And I don't think you an idiot. Please stay and talk to me. Please?” Carefully Greg reached out for him. Mycroft looked at his hand. And he took it.

“Would you pour another drink for me, Gregory?” Mycroft asked.

“Sure. Here, sit down inside.” He handed him the drink and knelt on the hardwood by his side. The policeman inside came to the front and by now he saw Mycroft as some sort of victim. He needed to calm him down, make him relax.

“Gregory, please. I know what you are doing. Come up here at once and sit.” A small smile was on his lips and Greg just sat by his side on the sofa.   
Mycroft sipped his drink and closed his eyes. Greg waited for something. Anything.

***

“What else can I do to make him feel better? He is behaving differently from Sherlock. What is he afraid of? His whole behaviour is strange. Perhaps I should tell him what I feel.” Greg quietly sighed and the grip on his hand tightened.

“Mycroft, I am attracted to you. I invited you here for dinner tonight not only to apologise. I wanted this to be a date and I hoped you'd return my feelings.” Mycroft's eyes opened again and he looked stunned.

“I do. I do return your feelings. I tried to dress nicely. I bought new things for this. You. But I haven't ever dated.” He said it as if it was something ghastly.

“I really would like to kiss you now.” Greg quietly said and their eyes met again.

“Gregory, I ...” Greg leant in and his lips touched Mycroft's. He felt the tension rise in him and his hands came up and palmed his face. His thumbs stroked over his cheekbones.

“Hold me, please?” Greg said against his lips. Slowly Mycroft's hands came up and his arms closed around Greg's broad shoulders. They stood like this for a little while until Mycroft pulled Greg close and held him tight.

“I don't want to go home.” He murmured into Greg's ear.

“And you won't. Stay with me. I won't touch you inappropriately.”

“Such a shame...” Greg quietly laughed and let go.

“I suppose you need to tell someone about your staying here?” Greg said questioningly.

“Yes, of course. I'll do that right away. Then I would like to have a last drink before we retire.” Mycroft pulled his mobile out of his pocket and Greg left to pour their last drinks for tonight. The call didn't take long and Mycroft sat outside again. He seemed to like the smallish backyard. He also looked more relaxed by now leaning against the backrest and looking up at Greg.

“Sit with me, please.” They drank and had another fag. Greg was quiet and he tried to find out what to do next.

“I am too tall for your sofa and so are you. I know what you are thinking about, Gregory.” A small smile was on his lips and Greg blushed.

“I don't want to crowd you. It seemed you didn't like to be touched.” Greg was helpless.

“You are not crowding me. And there are certain things we should talk about but not tonight. I am just asking for your company in your bed. And whatever happens there, well.” He killed his fag.

“Very well. I'll get ready for bed. Please don't disappear into the night, Count.” Greg grinned and left inside. Mycroft took the freedom and topped up his drink. He hoped the alcohol would help him sleep beside another person. Even though he felt safe with Gregory, more than safe actually, it left a bitter feeling in his guts. Greg returned dressed in tracking pants and a soft t-shirt. He smelled of toothpaste and soap.

“There is a still wrapped toothbrush and towels for you. Feel free to use anything you see. You know where to find me.” He grinned a bit lopsided. Mycroft stood and disappeared into the bath. He undressed and freshened up. And only then he found new track-pants and a long-sleeved shirt on the washing-machine. He put even warm socks up there. Everything was his size and not Gregory's. It wasn't his brand though. But Greg had foreseen something and just in case had bought this for him. He smiled and his spine began to tingle. He quickly dressed and left the bath. He felt good, felt taken care of. He entered the bedroom and closed the door. Greg was sitting against the headrest and looked up.

“There you are. Come on and join me. I won't bite.” He lifted the duvet and Mycroft climbed underneath. Quickly he pulled it up and over his long legs. He felt Greg's body-warmth and wondered if he should get closer. He would like that. But what about Gregory? Actually, Gregory was the only person whom he couldn't read. It was disturbing.  
There was a thump when Greg threw the book on the floor and moved on his back.

“I am very tired. I really would like to hold you while falling asleep. What about you?” He looked up from down below and met Mycroft's eyes. His eyes were glittering in the dimmed light.

“I'd like that, too.” Both men smiled and Mycroft slowly moved on his back. Greg's arm was over his waist in no time and he nuzzled his side. Then he sighed.

“Switch off the light on your side, please?” He murmured and breath ghosted warmly through his shirt. Mycroft shivered when he was lost in the dark. His hand found Greg's skin and he closed his eyes. He gave in and relaxed. He fell asleep in seconds.

***

The next morning Greg woke because he felt hot. Hot and hard. And crowded. He slowly blinked his eyes open and turned his head. There was Mycroft half on top of him. He had moved very close during the night and now his long limbs were wound around his body smothering him. He smelled great and Greg deeply inhaled. Unfortunately, his cock was beneath Mycroft's thigh and he only hoped he could escape before he noticed it. It wasn't only simple morning-wood. This was more. Suddenly the fingers moved. The fingers that were splayed over his chest.  
„This is embarrassing.“ But he didn't move away.  
„No, it's just me.“ Greg replied cheekily and Mycroft started to laugh. It made Greg's body shake with his and it felt great. Greg dared and slung his arms around Mycroft's thin frame. Not restricting, just holding him. And he didn't tense.  
„This feels so good...“ He murmured turning his head. His hair fell on parts of Greg's face and he blew the strands off.  
„I agree. Would you like to have coffee or tea with your breakfast?“ Greg asked trying to get up.  
„Coffee. But don't go away yet. I want this to last.“ Mycroft now sounded a bit like a petulant Sherlock.  
„I need the loo. If you keep holding me like this something horrible might happen.“ Greg took Mycroft's hips and lifted him up and to the side. Mycroft made an undignified noise and looked shocked. Greg grinned and pecked a kiss on the tip of his long nose.  
„Sorry!“ He jumped out of bed and disappeared into the bath. Mycroft looked at his backside and smiled. He had felt his erection and it had felt good. Now something grew between his legs, as well. Slowly his hand crept down and palmed his crotch. He closed his eyes and sighed.   
Greg relieved himself and brushed his teeth. His straining erection twitched inside his boxers and he adjusted his underwear. Coming out of the bath he found Mycroft in his kitchen looking for coffee. He slung his arms around him from behind and held him. He didn't care about his prick pressing against him. It seemed it hadn't bothered him before.  
“Gregory...” Mycroft's hands were on the counter and his head fell back on Greg's shoulder. Slowly Greg's hands wandered south until his left reached Mycroft's prick.  
“This feels nice...” He gently rubbed over it and felt him tremble.  
“Say something, please?” Greg urged but kept touching him.  
“Keep doing this, please. Don't talk.” It came out raggedly and Greg kissed his cheek. Greg wondered why he behaved like this. Weird. Being scared. Scared of what? Sexual things? Perhaps Greg should talk with Sherlock. But wouldn't that be betrayal? He very much wanted Mycroft beneath him. No, that was wrong. He wanted to be intimate with him. No matter how. So perhaps he should ask him to lead? If he wanted to. Lead.  
“Now I know what Sherlock keeps ranting about. You are thinking very loud, Gregory.” Mycroft whispered and turned in his embrace.  
“I am a bit worried about you. You are sending different signals and I don't know what to do.”  
“You are doing fine. I like this, being with you, I mean.” They locked eyes.  
“I want to be with you...” His voice was rough now and Greg swallowed.  
“So do I. Whatever you want. Tell me what you want me to do.” Greg pressed him closer and both men groaned when their pricks were pressed against each other's skin.  
“I want you to take me to bed.” Greg's eyes lightened up and it pierced Mycroft's heart. His breath hitched. Greg leant in and gently pressed his lips on Mycroft's who now opened his mouth and met his tongue. Greg groaned and tried to move even closer. Their hands where everywhere and the kisses became harder and very dirty. Suddenly Greg let go and pulled him behind and back into his bedroom.

***

Soon enough their clothes were everywhere. Mycroft had somehow managed to be under the blanket again but he urged Greg to get to him who tried to pull it off of him.  
“No, please get under the blanket with me.” Mycroft said holding on to it. Greg raised a brow but he had promised to do whatever he wanted. So, he obliged and tried to ignore the sweaty hotness beneath hit. But he also felt the man relax and soon his hands were touching him. He also spread his legs and Greg moved between them. His fingers massaged his balls and behind them. The noises Mycroft made were very wanton by now and Greg's free hand reached over to his night-stand to get to the lube and condoms. He took a copious amount on his finger and started to massage between his cheeks and around the puckered entrance. Mycroft's hands clawed into his muscular back and they both groaned. His finger probed and pressed until it was let inside. Mycroft trembled and started to move.  
“Go on, please.” Mycroft lifted his hips and Greg kept pressing until his finger had disappeared. He was rather experienced and soon found his prostate. He gently rubbed around and over it and elicited the most interesting noises from the man beneath him. Greg wondered why Mycroft was so tight. Almost like a man who had never been penetrated. He removed his fingers and used more lube. Protesting noises came from the sweaty man.  
“Hush, I don't want to hurt you.” He used two fingers and Mycroft was open and willingly taking them in. Greg concentrated on finger-fucking him wondering if he could ever push his cock through the tightness. His fingers were almost cramping when he had fucked him with three fingers but he was still aroused. He wanted Mycroft. And it seems Mycroft wanted him if the pleading noises were any sign. He reached out for a condom and was suddenly stopped.  
“No!” Loud and clear. Greg stopped and stayed completely still.  
“I know you are tested regularly. I know I am clean. I trust you. I don't want this thing between us.” They looked at each other.  
“I trust you, too.” He threw the condom away and adjusted his body. He leant over Mycroft and the blanket slid over his shoulder. He grabbed one of his long, lean legs and shoved his arm below. His thighs were under his cheeks and his free hand took his cock and lubed it very thorough. He moved until his cock touched his hole. Mycroft bucked up and tried to force him inside but Greg held him. He needed to do this slowly. He was still too tight.  
“I need you to relax, Mycroft. Don't force it or it will hurt.” And then he pushed insistently and slowly until he breached him.  
Mycroft groaned and his head hit the cushion. Greg started to move and adjusted his position until his cock hit home. Mycroft tore his eyes open and stared up at Greg. His long legs tightened around his body and so did his arms. Now Greg groaned, too. The strength surprised him.  
Mycroft's cock was pressed down by Greg's body but it seemed to be fine. Greg kept pushing and slowly became faster. He kept kissing Mycroft wherever he could reach and his finger rubbed over his nipples and chest. Too soon Mycroft started to clench around him and came covering their bodies with cum. His orgasm made Greg come, too, and he shot his load into the willing body beneath him.  
“God, you are amazing...” Greg roughly said slowly sinking down and pulling out. Completely out of breath he rested his forehead against Mycroft's side.  
“So are you. This was intense. This was what I had hoped for.” But while speaking these words he already tried to get the blanket up again. But now Greg took his hand and held it tight.  
“Don't. I would like to see you. All of you. Please?” He whispered and tried to look at him but Mycroft averted his eyes.  
“I can't... Please, don’t...?” His eyes were wide open and his pulse beat too fast. Greg could feel it. He simply let go of his hand and let him have the blanket. Shaking hands pulled it up and over his shoulders. Greg tightened his jaw and he fisted into the sheets.  
“Don't be angry with me...” Mycroft quietly said.  
“I am not angry. I just don't understand.” He moved away from under the blanket because he was too hot. He didn't look at Mycroft. He was surprised when long fingers closed around his wrist.  
“Don't leave me now... I will try to explain. I promise.” Greg turned his head and gave in. He rolled on his front and threw one arm over the blanket covered body.  
“Don't worry. I can wait. I promise.” He felt bloody tired now and closed his eyes. He felt long fingers carding through his hair and scratch over his scalp. He smiled and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter Three

Greg woke because of murmured words being spoken. He opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft's back who sat on the bed holding his mobile. He smiled and let his eyes wander.  
Lots of freckles on white skin. Muscles moving.

Mycroft stood and Greg stopped breathing. Scars on his thighs and calves. Lots of scars. Angry looking scars.

Mycroft ended his call and Greg closed his eyes again.  
“What are you doing?” He murmured as if just waking up.  
“I needed to tell Rogers that I haven't been killed. You don't want him in here questioning you about my whereabouts when I am simply taking a shower, do you?” Mycroft grinned.  
“No, I really don't.” Greg buried his face into the cushion.  
“I am making you coffee first.” Greg heard him getting dressed and leave the room. Only then he sat up and rubbed his face.  
“Bloody hell!” he murmured. He wondered if Sherlock knew about this. If he talked to him and he didn't... No, he wouldn't ask him. He needed to work this out together with Mycroft. He had promised. And he had to trust him.

***

They had a very late breakfast and finally got ready to part. Greg didn't want them to part but Mycroft insisted on having too much work.  
“But it's Saturday afternoon!” Greg looked at him almost desperately.  
“My work doesn't allow weekends, Gregory.” Mycroft smiled a bit sadly.  
“I will miss you.” Greg smiled, too.  
“I would like to invite you to my place.” Mycroft said.  
“I'd like that. I hoped you would like to see me again.”  
“I hope I will be more than only seeing you, Detective Chief Inspector.” He smirked.  
“Everything you want, Minor Official.” Greg smirked, too.  
“Next Friday?” Mycroft asked without having checked his appointments. He just would make it work.  
“Can't wait.” Greg slung his arms around him and pulled him close. He kissed him and Mycroft returned the kiss.  
“I really need to go.” He murmured against Greg's mouth. He let go and they looked into each other's eyes. Mycroft still looked a bit dishevelled and it made Greg's heart warm.  
“Leave then. I am already looking forward to next Friday.” Greg whispered letting go of him. Mycroft sighed and opened the door.  
Outside stood Rogers looking him up and down. He also cast a longer look at Greg who just stared back. Mycroft followed him and climbed into the car. Rogers closed the door behind him. Greg couldn't see through the tinted windows but waved anyway.  
The moment he was back inside his flat his mobile dinged.

_“Are you ready for the work again or do you have to recover?”  
SH_

“Damn you, Sherlock.” Greg swore.

The door-bell rang and he opened it. Outside stood Sherlock and John.  
“I am sorry. I wasn't able to stop Himself.” Sherlock just strode by and John shrugged.  
“What the hell does he want? I have the weekend off. I haven't been noticed about a homicide.”  
“I am not here because of a case. Except for the case of “The Case of the Minor Official”.” John giggled and even Greg had to grin.  
“I am not telling you anything, Sherlock.” Greg said looking at him. Sherlock turned around.  
“So, there is something to tell me? Interesting.” He looked into the bedroom and the bath. He also checked the kitchen. John stayed with Greg.  
“What do you want?” Greg asked and Sherlock looked at him.  
“I want to know what you did to my brother.” Sherlock stepped up close.  
“That's none of your business.” Greg didn't budge.  
“What happened here?” Sherlock insisted and his nose almost touched Greg's.  
“Sherlock, please. Let's go home or if you really need to know, go and ask your brother directly.” John tried to intervene but Sherlock didn't even react to his words.  
“Did you touch him?” Now his arms came up and Greg pushed him back.  
“Get the fuck back!” Greg shouted and now John stepped between them.  
“Stop it!” He yelled and it made Sherlock back away at once.  
“Greg?” He turned and looked at the DCI who just made a few steps back. John nodded more to himself and turned back to Sherlock.  
“Now, my love, please talk to us. What is the problem? If you are worried about your brother, just tell Greg. If there is something he needs to know, you tell him. Do you understand?” Somehow John managed to look taller than Sherlock, Greg thought.  
“Greg, have you seen him? I mean, really seen him?” Sherlock stared into Greg's eyes and by now Greg knew that Sherlock knew. And he simply nodded.  
“He tried to hide it but I was able to see his legs when he was talking to Rogers and thought I was still asleep. I was wondering about the blanket and why he wanted to stay beneath it. I didn't tell him I saw.” Greg looked at Sherlock.  
“What do you know? What happened to him?” Greg asked. Sherlock leant against the counter and looked at John. His fingers twitched and John stepped up and took his hand.  
“I know what happened to him but I can't tell you. It's his decision to talk to you about his past, not mine.”  
“Let me tell you, he left here in a very good mood. We had a splendid dinner and a wonderful night.” Greg looked serious and Sherlock looked almost shocked.  
“Are you telling me, you have slept with him? Had sex with Mycroft?” It sounded unreal.  
“Yes, I do, even though it's not your business at all.”  
“Wow.” John just shook his head still holding Sherlock’s hand.  
“Well, yes. And now please do leave.” He pointed towards the door. John gently pulled at Sherlock’s wrist and he followed.  
“I am sorry, Greg.” John said leading Sherlock outside.  
“Never mind. I should have expected it.” Greg looked at Sherlock’s back.  
“Call me?” John asked and Greg nodded. He closed his door, looked at his watch and poured a drink.

***

Mycroft at once went into his study and powered up his computer. There were several mails from Anthea keeping him updated. He found he actually had nothing to do. His return on Monday would be just fine.

Now he didn't know what to do with himself. And then he started to think about Friday. He also thought about returning to Greg and tell him about the blanket issue. He didn't want to lie to him and he deserved to know the truth.  
For a few seconds he buried his face in his hands breathing hard. He got interrupted when his mobile dinged with a text alert. Slowly he picked it up half hoping it was a message from Greg.

_“Please tell me you are OK.”  
SH_

Mycroft sighed. What did Sherlock do? How did he even know? And did he really have to ask that question? He typed a reply.

_“Don't worry, brother-mine. I am better than ever. And I will tell him.”  
MH_

Mycroft stood. He needed to do this. And he needed to do this by himself. No protection-detail. He called Rogers who knocked at his door in a minute.  
“Sir?” He looked at him.  
“Rogers, I am taking my car and I will be driving myself. You may follow me but I don't want you too close. This is an important appointment for me.”  
“But Sir, security...” Mycroft interrupted him.  
“I know about the risk. I also know how to handle myself. I will return to DCI Lestrade, just in case you lose me on the way there.” A small smile was on Rogers face.  
“Understood, Sir. Please take this.” He held out his gun and Mycroft just took it. He picked up car-keys. He did own a car but he rarely drove it. But today he needed it. He put his coat back on and left his house, Rogers on his heels.  
He saw Rogers on the phone, probably clearing his way. If Anthea supported this, he would have green lights all the way. His smile grew wider.  
He sat behind the wheel and fastened his seat-belt. A last look in the rear mirror and he stepped down. His car raced along with Rogers close behind. Mycroft felt great.  
He pressed a few buttons on the wheel and his mobile dialled Greg's number.  
“Mycroft?” He answered his call very quickly.  
“Greg, I am on my way back to you. Are you at home?” He turned around a corner and his tyres screeched over the asphalt. People showed him the middle-finger and he had actual fun.  
“Yes, I am at home. Your brother just paid me a visit. Where are you? What are you doing?”  
“He texted me. I am driving.” He hit the brakes and changed lines. Rogers was still behind him.  
“Drive sensible!” Lestrade yelled and by now Mycroft grinned a bid wild. For once he felt free.  
“See you in a few!” He hung up and raced along. After a few more minutes he hit the brake. Rogers arrived only seconds later. Mycroft gestured for him to stay back.

Greg opened the door before Mycroft could ring the bell. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Only then Greg pulled him inside. Rogers waited outside leaning against his car.  
“Mycroft, what is going on? Your brother was completely upset.” Greg reached out and held his hand.  
“This is my fault. I should have told you right away. But I couldn't.”  
“I knew something was wrong. Your behaviour was strange. And I need you to know that I saw your legs this morning when you were on the phone.” Mycroft tensed but didn't pull away.  
“It happened a long time ago when I was still doing field work. I was caught and questioned. I didn't reveal anything but I was tortured. The troops for my rescue were a bit too late. I was barely alive but I pulled through. After that I never returned to that field. Instead I started to sit behind a desk.”  
“You weren't only questioned and tortured, am I right?” Greg whispered.  
“You are right, I wasn't.” Mycroft pressed his hand and his lips tightened.  
“I thought I never could...” His voice broke and Greg just pulled him into his arms.  
“Sh, sh. I am here.” He stroked over his back and whispered nonsense in his hear while he cried on his shoulder.  
“I was stupid not to tell you...” He sobbed out the words.  
“You do now. I am glad you trust me with this.” He gently moved him into the living-room and made him sit on the sofa. He handed over the tissue-box and Mycroft blew his nose.  
“I feel so stupid. I don't like feeling stupid.” Now Mycroft began to look angry.  
“Then don't behave stupid. You can always talk to me. About everything. I will always be listening to you.”  
“You should know, when I was with you, I had only a few moments of angst. The longer we were together, the better it became. You were so gentle and tender with me. After the incident I never... Until yesterday, I mean. You were my first.”  
Greg held his hands and smiled. He had been right after all.  
“I have been looking at you for a very long time. I have always trusted you. I have seen how you coped with my little brother and it was all I needed to know. But I never dared to approach.”  
“Your approach finally happening sucked, you know?” Greg held him a bit away and gently kissed him.  
“So I was told.” They kissed for a very long time.


End file.
